


Purgatory

by Naemi



Series: Mating Games 2014 [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, Future Fic, M/M, Promiscuity, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This guy he picked up at a bar was promising. Now, reduced to moans and squirms and panting, he gives him nothing more than a tight clench of muscles and a light scratch of fingernails, just as meaningless as the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> [future fic; reader's choice (any male werewolf)]

 

He rolls his hips and thrusts up again, again, but it doesn't mean anything, doesn't _do_ anything for him. The fire that used to consume him is long extinct. The more people he fucks, the more his heart ices over, and yet, he can't stop. He seeks another partner as soon as he has washed off the smell of the previous in a never-ending search for a fulfillment he knows is dead and buried with his past.

This guy he picked up at a bar was promising. Now, reduced to moans and squirms and panting, he gives him nothing more than a tight clench of muscles and a light scratch of fingernails, just as meaningless as the rest. Smooth, milky skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a scent that almost resembles _the one_ still make him a good choice—but it's not enough. It's never enough.

Growling low in his throat, he grabs the man's hips, rolls them over, fucks him so hard and deep that the moans become tinged with pain. He barely notices, is too desperate for a flicker of that bliss, for someone who can erase the memory, maybe even negate the loss. Neither of these things is possible, but somehow, deep inside, that contents him. He _likes_ to ache. He _deserves_ to suffer.

The man underneath him writhes and pushes at his chest. “You're hurting me,” he bites out, and it's only then that he slows down. Clenching his jaw, he forces himself to focus on his anchor, lest he wolf out. The last time this happened, it ended with too much blood and a guilt that still clenches his heart. He's been through enough nightmares for two lifetimes and doesn't need any more.

He kisses an apology on soft lips, writes it on broad shoulders with a ghosting touch of fingertips, and the stranger relaxes. They build a slow-rocking rhythm; making love without attachment. It's dissatisfying. Frustration rises with every thrust until it chokes him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, like bile and heartache, like rotten food and a truth denied.

The stranger comes, but he doesn't. It's okay. He rarely does.

~ ~ ~

The water burns him faster than the healing can repair any damaged tissue. It's delightful, reminiscent of another werewolf's warmth against him when they're both wounded and worn out from battle. He doesn't break his own skin, not tonight, although he longs to bleed, longs to destroy—eradicate—everything that feels like the home so far away, or the pack that is no longer.

Peace of mind, however, requires more than just a wish.

Braced against the steaming hot tiles with one hand, he grabs his cock with the other, starts stroking himself with too much pressure too roughly. Pleasure, although it keeps him alive these days, doesn't come with gentle touches. It demands pain. He cups his balls, squeezing hard until he can't bite back a howl, and the sound triggers the memories. They flood him unfiltered, hitting with so much force that his legs almost give out.

Running under the full moon, with his pack, with his mate. The first heat together: growling, biting, fucking so hard that he thinks there must be blood, but there isn't: only the pleasure of the knot, the delight of belonging, being safe and warm in his mate's arms forever. Forever ending abruptly in violence and bloodshed and he, responsible for the tragedy, fleeing the scene, fleeing his past and his pack and everything that once was good in his life.

Tears run down his cheeks, mix with the water and disappear unnoticed. His cock twitches as if to escape, but he doesn't let go, can't stop until the physical pain exceeds the emotional ache. He comes, panting, hurting so thoroughly that the intensity threatens to overpower him. When he catches his breath, he turns off the hot water, stands under the cold spray until his mind is calm too.

He dresses and goes back out, hunting for another partner, hunting for another chance to feel free.

One day, when all his sins are forgiven, he'll be whole again, but until then, he lives in self-imposed purgatory.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **Light Vs. Dark Challenge** over at **Mating Games**.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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